


Stop This Ride

by Sproid



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bondage, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Violence, extended use of metaphor again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:01:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/500771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sproid/pseuds/Sproid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's the Black Widow, she can leave the moment she changes her mind, but for now she chooses to join Hawkeye on the path he walks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stop This Ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> Contains some violence and sexual content, including consensual bondage.

"Come in with me," Hawkeye offers.

Natasha looks at him. Steady hands on the bow he's got pointed at her, honest eyes, open face, no hint of a lie in his voice. She doesn't know what awaits her if she goes with him, but at least she's aware of that from the start, and can plan accordingly.

"Alright," she agrees.

She's the Black Widow, she can leave the moment she changes her mind, but for now she chooses to join Hawkeye on the path he walks.

\-- -- -- -- --

As much as she respects Hawkeye, she doesn't expect to like Clint. Personality traits that are mere bullet points of information on paper turn out to mean so much more in person though. Clint is reliable, ridiculous, smart and a smart-ass, respectful, watchful. He treats her like a person, not an agent, and seems to like her, too.

This is friendship, she assumes. It is not something she anticipated. For as long as it is harmless though, she will let it continue.

\-- -- -- -- --

A year later, she realises that, no, that wasn't friendship. Those early days and weeks were the tentative beginnings, the barest scratches on the surface, when neither of them truly knew nor trusted the other for all that they wanted to. Now they have talked and laughed and cried and suffered together; they have fought and argued and annoyed each other; they have backed each other up and faced each other down.

Now they are friends. What they had a year ago was merely the beginnings of the journey they have since been on together.

\-- -- -- -- --

Drug lords capture Natasha in Cuba. They're good at what they do but nowhere near the best, and she is waiting for the right time to make her escape when Clint comes to rescue her. There are thumps outside and then the door of her cell swings open to reveal him, hands tense around his bow, body grimy and sweaty, his face tight, angry, relieved.

"I had it under control," Natasha tells him, releasing herself from her restraints.

"I know," he replies, and leads her out of the complex.

There is an arrow in the heart of every corpse they pass along the way. Clint looks dangerously satisfied as he strides over the bodies and between pools of blood. Natasha looks at their terrified faces frozen in death, the spill and spray of crimson in the dust, and approves. She would do the same for him if he were taken.

On the journey back, side-by-side with Clint in the back of the jeep, Natasha wonders why she ever thought that friendship was harmless for either one of them. They are bound together now, and while she could still destroy what they have with a few choice words and deeds, she would emerge from the wreckage as damaged as Clint would be.

\-- -- -- -- -- --

The kiss takes Natasha by surprise.

Or rather, the urge to kiss Clint takes Natasha by surprise. By the time she actually does it, she's spent a week considering the pros and cons of pursuing a sexual relationship with him, analysed why it is Clint she is attracted to, thought about how to end it if necessary. Preserving their friendship is not an issue that requires thought. She knows Clint, knows that now he's with her he's not going anywhere; this is an unexpected bend in the road they're on, but they'll travel it together no matter where it takes them.

Best to take it slowly though, Natasha decides. That way if either one of them changes their mind, they can back out and steer things in a safer direction.

"I wondered when you were going to get around to doing that," Clint says after Natasha kisses him in a quiet bar on a Thursday night.

Natasha smiles, and lets him kiss her again. Two beers and one taxi ride later, they tumble into Clint's bed in a tangle of wild limbs and desperate hands, collapsing sometime after midnight in a hot, sticky, exhausted mess.

In the morning, Natasha wakes first. Clint is sprawled out on his back next to her, loose-limbed, messy-haired, a work of art in the early morning sunlight that plays over tanned skin and the purple bruises she'd put there last night. _So much for going slowly_ , Natasha thinks, and wakes him up so she can take him for a spin again before they have to leave.

\-- -- -- -- --

Clint is spread out on his bed, rope criss-crossing the length and breadth of his arms up to where he's tied to the headboard, muscles flexing, body trembling slightly, hot and flushed as he strains against the ropes and waits for her to move. Natasha wants to hold him and mark him, trace his scars and soothe his pains, be the one to do this for him and with him, have him do the same for her, for as long as they're both together and need each other.

"This isn't just sex," she murmurs. Before Clint can answer she leans down to press their mouths together, sweep her tongue across his and swallow his words, so that she doesn't have to hear his reply just yet.

When she lets them both up for air, Clint shakes his head. "No," he agrees.

Now Natasha trembles, because she knows how far out of control this has got, how far down an untravelled road she's gone, and it scares her.

"Was it ever meant to be just sex?" Clint asks later, when she's untied him so she can feel his arms strong and safe around her.

"No." She tangles their legs together and rests her head over his heart. "But it wasn't supposed to be this, either."

"What is this?"

Natasha has no answer so gives none. Instead she lifts her head and presses a kiss to his jaw.

"Well, let me know when you figure it out," Clint says.

Dryly, Natasha informs him, "That might be a while."

Clint chuckles and hugs her. "I'll wait."

\-- -- -- -- --

Early on in Natasha's career, with her escape plans unachievable, the only way to complete the mission and tie up loose ends had been to steal her target's car and drive it off a cliff and into the ocean with herself still in it. Even today she can remember the rush of adrenaline as she sped towards the drop, the way her sweaty hands could barely grip the wheel on the approach, the sickening roll of her stomach as she'd gone over the edge, the chill as the water had closed around her. Nothing to hold on to, no firm footing, everything swaying underneath her and pressing down above her. She escaped, barely, but the experience still ranks as one of the most terrifying in her life.

Loki takes Clint, and Natasha still doesn't know what name to give to the complex tangle of everything that's between them, but she knows exactly what it feels like right now.

\-- -- -- -- --

In amongst everything else that's going on as they try to save the world, Natasha can't help wondering if she and Clint were going too far too fast before, if now is the time for her to jump out before they crash and burn. Perhaps when they get him back, she should end it, because even if they both survive she's got no hold on the steering wheel any more and certainly can't get to the brakes.

Then they get Clint back, and it's like being back on solid ground again. She's weak-kneed with relief to be there but she's had the breath knocked out of her by the ordeal, and so has he. Even as Natasha grips him close, she wonders if either of them can survive a near-miss like this again.

\-- -- -- -- --

The battle is over, the doctors and psychiatrists have cleared them for rest and relaxation, Fury has given everyone three weeks official leave and as much as they want unofficially. Tony has taken Bruce and given everyone else the use of his tower and his transport in exchange, which works well for all concerned.

"Wanna go on a roadtrip?" Clint asks Natasha, when they're the only ones left in the garage.

"Where to?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Anywhere."

"Alright."

The car speeds down the highway, top down, road stretching away from the city and into the horizon far ahead where it's obscured by the orange glow of the setting sun. Clint's got his sunglasses on and he's watching the road as he drives, but he smiles when Natasha reaches over to put a hand on his thigh.

"You OK?" he asks, glancing over at her briefly.

"Not really," she replies.

Clint drops one hand off the wheel to cover hers. "Anything I can do?"

A small smile graces Natasha's lips. Clint's battered and bruised on the inside, and she's the same on the outside, and they should probably be slowing down or pulling over to recover. That's not what she wants though, and not what they need. She can put the brakes on whenever she wants to, but now is not that time.

"Does this thing go any faster?" she asks instead.

Clint grins. "Sure." He presses on the accelerator, and suddenly the roar of the engines and the rush of the wind drown out anything else they could say. Natasha squeezes Clint's hand before he puts it back on the wheel, and then leans back in her seat to watch the world race by around the two of them. Neither of them are in great shape, but he's got his eyes on the road and she's got her eyes on him, which means as long as they're together they can navigate the tough times ahead.


End file.
